The new year is a time of purging, so I will throw out the few sentences I attempted on the following books I read.
The New York Regional Mormon Singles Halloween Dance, a memoir by Elna Baker– I grew up around Mormons in Utah, and in truth I’m descended from them on both sides. There’s too much I struggled with for too long to forgive, gain a perspective of humor, and accept. For me to suddenly review a book that unwittingly displayed some of what I finally find benignly humorous and they tout like Las Vegas lights, would be making myself a target of vicious self-destructiveness.
The Buccaneer Surgeon, Frank G. Slaughter–Slaughter’s fiction was iconic in the 50s, so when I saw a cheap, used paperback I bought it for entertainment. It was entertaining though for all the wrong reasons and now that it is so out of step with today’s fiction, it wasn’t worth the time. I will remember it for a few nervous chuckles over sentences like these on page 219, “Long ago, I had sworn never to stab a man in the back or to rape a virgin. I had thought to make an exception of Maria Andreda.”
Sonora, Ignaz Pfefferkorn–This classic description of the Mexican state of Sonora was written from 1756 to 1767 by a Jesuit who was sent by the Catholic church for the purpose. I found it interesting for my purposes and research, but not riveting for general readers.
Hot Rocks, Nora Roberts–Since I’d never read this popular novelist I thought it was about time. It was, but that type of writing holds so little interest for me that I would only make enemies reviewing it.
Kim, Rudyard Kipling–Like Buccaneer Surgeon, this also is a novel of its time, though it is a more respected classic. Enough has been written by others to fill history and high school student need for reviews, and I wasn’t bowled over by it enough to care.
Women and Money, Suzi Orman–Enthusiasm should go into a review that inspires others to learn new and important material. I’m a jaded one who began skipping pages at a fast rate since it should have been and was years ago I needed and got the information.
It would have taken another book to sort this out, so I made extensive notes and put many exclamation notes in the margins to remind myself of a million little thoughts for my use and reference.
What a Book! Tom T. Hall–My stepmother sent me this signed book with the note that Hall had been a favorite of my father. The book was all right, but how often does a father brought up in 1930s share a popular writer with a daughter who came of age with the Beatles and the Rolling Stones? To critically review it felt like daughterly subterfuge.